


Fragile

by throwupsparkles



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Codependency, Eating Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, MCR never happened, Polyamory, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles/pseuds/throwupsparkles
Summary: “Frank thinks you’re mad at him,” Pete says, sitting on the closed toilet seat lid.Mikey opens his eyes and sighs. “I thought we agreed that bath time was me time.”Pete grins. “I’m sorry to interrupt your sparkly bath bombs.”“I used the unicorn one this time,” Mikey says, holding up his hand to show Pete the glitter that was still stuck to his hand.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Mikey Way/Pete Wentz, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Comments: 20
Kudos: 112





	Fragile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightsinthefloors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsinthefloors/gifts).



> Dedicating this story to nottherealryanrosss since I finished this on her birthday and some of the topics covered in here were inspired by some of our conversations, sorry it's not that happy of a story or super birthday festive ;) Though seriously, you all should check out her work.
> 
> Just FYI, all the ages and timelines are blurred together (i.e. Gerard's ugly green jacket makes an appearance even though he's only 28 in this story). 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: There is mention of an eating disorder in this story, so if that's triggering, please peace out now. Also, I am not a doctor, mental health professional, or have any extensive knowledge of eating disorders beyond my few psych courses at university. So, I apologize for any inaccuracies or exaggerations.

Mikey doesn’t think he could move out of New Jersey, but he considers it every winter. 

He hates being cold. Because it’s not the brisk cool weather that he likes to go out in to show off a new coat or his favorite pink scarf. It’s the bone deep cold that stays with him even after he’s curled under the blankets with Pete. 

Pete pours steaming tea into a traveling mug and hands it to Mikey. “Call me when you get off work, I’ll come pick you up,” he says, sleep still coating his voice.

“I thought you had that meeting with Brad,” Mikey replies, blowing the steam over the uncovered mug, debating if he wants to exchange a burnt tongue for a sip of Pete’s cinnamon apple tea.

Pete makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, going over to the toaster to push down his bagels. “Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, “I forgot.”

“It’s why I stick the sticky notes on the bathroom mirror.”

“Yeah, but I can’t read your writing sometimes. I thought it said ‘Feeding to be had’.”

Mikey snorts and winces when he presses his lips to the mug. “Fuck.”

“Well, yeah, dummy, it’s still steaming.”

“Shut up. Why would I write ‘feeding to be had’?”

“I thought it was something kinky.”

Mikey raises his eyebrow, considering. 

Pete laughs and opens their creaky fridge to grab the cinnamon cream cheese. Pete loves cinnamon in the fall and winter. He’s totally a basic bitch who orders a Pumpkin Spiced Latte as soon as Starbucks starts rolling them out in September. He always buys them the Christmas blend coffee beans once the holidays roll around, and their house is always stocked with gingerbread cookies as soon as Pete smells the first snow. It’s one of the things Mikey loves about him. 

“I don’t think I have a feederism kink, sorry to disappoint,” Mikey finally says, grinning over his mug.

“I wouldn’t think so,” he says so casually, that Mikey almost doesn’t notice the slight backhanded comment.

Mikey just hums and glances at the clock. “Better go or I’ll miss my train.”

Pete pulls his toasted bagels out of the toaster and slathers them in his festive cream cheese. He holds out an arm and Mikey goes to him, nuzzling against him for a moment. Pete kisses the top of his head. “Think we should talk about you getting your license again,” he murmurs, “I hate you walking when it’s still dark out.”

“I’ll be fine, worrywort,” Mikey sighs, but he loves the attention. He likes being taken care of, and he knows there’s a darker, deeper reason why he’s so touch starved and feels giggly when Pete worries about him. He knows that there’s a slight unhealthy obsession with needing to feel small and needing to be wrapped in bubble wrap. He likes feeling breakable, that people have to be fragile with him. 

Pete tilts his chin up with his cinnamon fingers and kisses him, brief, but encompassing at the same time. Mikey lingers, tasting the minty toothpaste that had dried on the corner of his smile. 

“Love you,” he says, walking over to the counter to screw on the lid for his mug.

Pete blows him a kiss and then Mikey is stepping out into the cold, dark, morning. 

Mikey didn’t really expect this to be his life at twenty-five. He never really had a plan, and he wonders if he had been more proactive when he was younger he’d have a better job than filling the shelves at this used bookstore on the other side of town. It wasn’t that he hated his job or anything, it was exactly what he needed right now. Something slow and monotonous, something that kept his hands busy but calmed his mind. 

Something that kept him out of bars and dingy club venues. 

He lights a cigarette and stands on the platform, waiting for his train. At this hour, it’s mostly retail workers like him or construction crews. He sips at his tea in between drags of his cigarette. He pulls out his phone and plugs in his earphones, pulling up whatever mix that Gerard sent him last. He’s got a few days until their next phone call, and he tries to look through all the links and listen to the songs he sends. It’s Gerard’s way of staying connected. Instead of his own words, he likes to send Mikey someone else’s thoughts. It’s easier that way. 

Mikey doesn’t really blame him. Or, well, that’s a lie. He understands why he’s doing what he is, he just wished it wasn’t like this. He remembers when Gerard was like another limb to him, when Gerard was so close to him it felt like he didn’t know if he was Mikey or Gerard some days. 

The train comes to a stop in front of him and Mikey steps on, finding his favorite chair with the broken back so that he can recline back a bit. He leans his head against the window and closes his eyes, letting the music wash over his brain. It’s nice and mellow, Gerard has been into more soundscapes lately instead of anything heavy like they used to listen to when they were kids. Sometimes Gerard sends him moody, sad songs and Mikey has a brief moment where he thinks his brother is back, the brother that he knows. And those moments are always hard for Mikey, because on one hand he has this heart stopping terror that Gerard is hunched over a toilet throwing up bottles of liquor tangled with bile. But once that sets in, he feels almost...happy isn’t the word, but comforted. In the way that it would be familiar. 

Mikey isn’t sure if it’s some sort of quarter life crisis, but he feels so fucking nostolgic all the time. He finds himself longing for his childhood where he bounced around on his bed, jumping up and down with bets that he could touch the ceiling before Gerard. He misses the stumbly feeling of having too much beer coursing through his veins as he swayed down hallways of venues with Gerard, whispering promises that they’d be up on the stage one day. And he misses things that didn’t even happen to him. He gets on his computer and looks at photos of Pete’s bands, reads their interviews, watches videos of them playing live or recording. He longs for those memories that aren’t even his. But they could have been. If Gerard had gotten his shit together without having to fly to the other side of the country. If he had tried to get better  _ with _ Mikey instead of away from him. 

He gets off at his stop and drags his tired feet down the blocks to the store. His toes feel like icicles at this point, he really needs to get new boots and maybe thicker socks. It’s not that him and Pete are broke, but they don’t really have extra income laying around after bills to buy new clothes whenever Mikey feels like it. Most of the time, Mikey just goes to the thrift store and digs through the racks and bins. Even when they do have some extra money, he doesn’t like to spend it. He makes significantly less than Pete, and it always makes him uncomfortable to buy things for himself. He knows that without Pete, he’d probably be on the street or something. There’s no way that he’d be able to afford an apartment and food on his measly ten an hour pay. 

When Mikey gets to the store, he’s the only one. He’s opener most days, Brendon won’t be in until close to lunch time. He likes the slow, quiet mornings. He goes through the aisles and cleans up the shelves so they look somewhat presentable. Then he goes to turn on the big coffee maker by the front door. It’s one of his favorite things about the job. Endless supply of caffeine. 

And he doesn’t really mind his slow, uneventful days. He opens the store, stands at the register until Brendon gets in, then he sorts the shelves and puts up new merchandise. And then he goes home. It’s not the glamour rockstar life he whispered to Gerard when they were sharing cigarettes in the alleys outside of venues. But it's a life, which is more than he thought he’d have at this age. 

*

Pete loves to take Mikey to this vegan cafe near their apartment on their Wednesdays off. It’s one of those hipster places that they really have no business being in, but Pete really likes that all their food is locally sourced and that they have a community garden in the back. Not that it means anything in the winter, but Pete still comes in religiously every Wednesday for Frank’s Waffle Wednesdays. 

Well, that, and Pete’s been trying to get Pencey Prep signed to his label for months now. Frank’s good natured about it, Mikey knows how persistent Pete can be when he wants to. But, Frank just grins and says that the band is having too much fun doing the DIY thing. 

Mikey likes to lean against the counter and listen to Frank tell him touring stories while he cuts up vegetables. At first, Mikey thought that maybe he was overstepping by asking so many questions, but he thinks that Frank doesn’t mind because he could do the kitchen prep in the back if he really wanted. He’s got other employees that can work the counter. Like Ray, who always gives Mikey a knowing look when he walks through the door. 

“Oh look, it’s your biggest fan,” Ray will say, hip checking Frank a little. 

And Frank will blush and Mikey will hide slightly behind Pete, who really thinks the whole thing is funny. Mikey will sit at their usual table by the windows and Pete will go up to the counter and order for them, even though Mikey won’t touch the waffles. 

And then, Mikey will go up to the counter once the lunch rush is slow to pull more stories out of Frank.

“Why does Pete keep ordering you waffles if you never eat them?” Pete asks one day.

Mikey flinches a little. “They’re good,” he says instead.

Frank smirks and wipes down the espresso machine. “Oh? Have you actually tried them?”

Mikey nods. “Yeah, I like the pecan ones the best,” he says, “With the cinnamon butter.”

Frank smiles. “So, you just eat like a bird then? You’re kinda built like one.”

“Oh shut up,” Mikey mumbles, playing with the hem of his shirt. 

“Just messing with you,” he says gently, almost cautiously. And Mikey knows that Frank is picking up on something. Mikey isn’t necessarily inconspicuous about it, but he liked to believe he was. He hated to talk about it. 

“You guys are playing Friday, right?”

Frank nods. “Yeah, you guys coming?”   


“And let Pete miss the chance to drool over you some more? Yeah, don’t think so.”

Frank howls in laughter. “He just wants to sign us. I’m just a dollar sign.”

Mikey frowns, “That’s not true. Pete’s not like that.”

Frank looks up from his task. “I didn’t mean it like that, Mikes. I know he’s not. I was just kidding.”

One of the things that Mikey found most admirable about Pete and his label was that they weren’t like the other sharks out there in the music industry. They liked to keep the integrity of the bands they signed instead of turning them into some corporate machine. Pete treated his bands like children. He went to every show in the area he could like a proud parent and he even hung up everyone’s first live set list up on their refrigerator. 

“We’ll see you Friday,” Mikey mumbles, walking away. He can feel Frank’s eyes on his back as he walks over to Pete. He looks up from his phone, probably responding to the mountain of emails he always seemed to have. “Are you ready?”

Pete looks at Mikey’s untouched plate and sighs, but then he looks at Mikey’s expression and nods. “Yeah, ok.”

*

It wasn’t like Mikey was trying to be skinny or whatever. He had no issues with that ever since he lost all his weight back in high school. The problem was that Mikey just never really felt like eating. Sometimes it was that his stomach was turning in knots from unexplained nerves and sometimes it was that food just seemed so disgusting to him, even Frank’s waffles. Those days were the worst, because he couldn’t even watch Pete eat without feeling nauseous. 

Pete tries to monitor Mikey’s eating as much as he can, which helps some. He’ll sit down with Mikey in front of the television and keep handing him fries while he’s distracted until the entire plate is gone. And then Mikey will lay in Pete’s lap and let the unfamiliar feeling of being full lull him to sleep under the flickering television lights. 

Gerard doesn’t know any of this is going on. And Mikey won’t tell him.

“How’s Pete?” Gerard asks, and Mikey can hear the flick of a lighter then a huff of breath.

“He’s good,” Mikey says, “He’s still trying to get Frank’s band.”   


Gerard laughs lightly, the kind that he does out of politeness instead of when he actually thinks that something is funny. “He’s wasting his time it sounds like.”   


“Frank’s worth it.”   


There’s a pause. “You talk about Frank a lot.”   


“He’s a good friend.”

“Hmm,” Gerard hums, “I thought you gave up dating rockstars.”   


“I’m with Pete.”   


Gerard just hums again. 

Mikey rolls his eyes, thinking if he does it dramatically enough, Gerard will hear it over the phone. “How’s Lynz?”

“Oh great,” Gerard says, and instantly the tone changes. Gerard is happy talking about her, and Mikey is almost bitter with it. He sounds like the sunshine that’s probably beating down on him in LA instead of being frail and cold with Mikey in New Jersey. 

“Good,” Mikey interrupts Gerard’s praises of Lynz’s new art show coming up. “I’m happy for you.”

Another pause.   


Then, “How are you, Mikey?”

“Fine,” he answers automatically, it’s the answer he gives Gerard every week. He’s fine. He’s alive. And that’s just fine.

Sometimes he wishes Gerard would press further or even just ask Mikey again, because Mikey knows that he can’t really lie to his brother. Even after the three years they’ve been apart, he knows that he’ll never be able to get a lie past his brother. Which is why it really hurts when Gerard always moves past the lie and asks, “So what’d you think of the playlist?”

Because Mikey knows that Gerard can hear it in his voice. He can hear how fragile Mikey is right now. And maybe that’s why he’s not pushing. Maybe he’s scared that Mikey is beyond saving at this point. Or maybe he doesn’t even know what he’s saving Mikey from. 

Gerard had drugs and alcohol that he had to battle. He ran away from his monsters and now he’s fine. 

Mikey, well, Mikey doesn’t have anything tangible to fight. Just this empty feeling inside. And the racing thoughts that tell him this is his life now.

“It was great, Gerard,” he whispers, “I listen to it on the way to work.”   


“Yeah? Keep you calm on public transit?”   


Mikey forces a laugh. “Yeah.”

*

Frank always plays the dirtiest bars. Mikey’s pretty sure that he does that on purpose because it just fucking reeks of Frank Iero. The graffiti on the walls, the cigarette butts on the floor, the ever present stench of piss, beer, and sweat. Yeah, this is Frank for sure. 

Pete comes to stand next to Mikey, holding their sodas.

Pete stopped drinking after his band broke up just after they started dating. Mikey had followed Pete and his band up and down the eastern coast until Pete finally asked him out. There had been a few really good hot summer months of Mikey draped over Pete in the tour bus. Of them sneaking off into fields behind festivals to make out in the grass, only to have Pete laugh at Mikey’s sneezing from allergies later. 

But then, Pete’s band broke up.

Mikey wasn’t stupid, even though Pete tried to keep it from him. It was from all the partying that seemed to always swallow bands whole. Pete didn’t want to bring Mikey into it since he was trying to pull his own brother from the addiction as well. But, by the time Pete’s tour bus slowly reached New Jersey, Gerard was gone and Pete didn’t have a band.

And then it was long cold months of trying to make it on their own. Pete couldn’t go back to Chicago, he said he couldn’t handle going back home after his dreams died. He needed to make something of himself before he could go back home.

Mikey could understand that, even if he didn’t believe it. He thought Pete had already reached it. He already accomplished more than Mikey had. And would ever since the only person he wanted to be in a band with was on the other side of the country. 

“I think he’s weakening,” Pete murmurs next to Mikey, throwing an arm around him and pulling him to his side. 

Mikey clings to the warmth and leans his head on his shoulder. “Whatever you say,” he says fondly, because Pete says that at every show.

When Frank gets on stage, he’s an enigmatic force, sucking the whole audience into him. Demanding attention. He flails around on the floor, throws himself into the other band members, screams until he’s red and dripping in sweat. Mikey has to force himself to look away and watch the way that Pete watches him. 

Sometimes it hits him. That look that’s so familiar to him, that’s usually directed at Mikey. But he never feels jealous, or hurt even. Because Pete can look at Frank like that all he wants, his love for Mikey never dampens. 

It’s after the show that Mikey looks forward to the most. When Pete tries to sweet talk Frank into signing on the dotted line and Frank just grins easily. His whole body seems flowy after a show, like he’s just come down from the biggest high that Mikey is still chasing. It’s infectious, standing close to him. And sometimes Mikey has to remind himself that he can’t just rub up against him like a cat. 

But Frank is super handsy as it is. He drapes his inked arm over Mikey and pulls him into a sweaty hug as soon as he walks off stage, presses his forehead to his and laughs like Mikey’s in on the joke too. Mikey usually smiles, the kind that makes his cheeks ache because it’s hard not to give into Frank’s happiness. 

And then Frank will drop his arms, give him a look and wrap himself around Pete. And Pete will put his hand behind Frank’s head, cradling him into the hug like he never wants Frank to leave. 

*

“You know, you don’t have to make us pizza,” Pete says with a grin, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“You guys never have anything Frank friendly, so yeah, I have to make food if I want sustenance.”

“I bought vegetables,” Mikey mumbles. 

Frank laughs, “Honey, corn is a starch.”

Mikey blushes and sits at the kitchen table and watches Frank work. Mikey did also buy peppers and onions, which Frank hums at. He sighs when he finds a jar of tomato sauce, mutters, “Remind me to give you a couple jars next time you're at the cafe.” But he takes his time, stretching and rolling the dough. Mikey half expects him to toss it in the air like they do on tv, but he doesn’t, just reaches out to Pete and shows him how to get the dough stretchy and sticky the way it needs to be. Mikey likes watching Frank’s inked hands over Pete’s bare hands. Pete has tattoos, and Mikey loves tracing over them, but Frank has so much more. He’s more ink than not these days. Frank’s short just like Pete is, and Mikey think’s is super cute that they don’t have to put in any effort to look each other in the eyes. 

Pete stretches the dough out on the pan and Frank coats it in tomato sauce then the soy cheese that Mikey bought. Pete decorates it with the sliced veggies.

Mikey stretches, feeling the sleepiness set into his bones. He gets up from the table and Pete gives him a knowing look. “Is it Mikeyway’s bedtime?” He murmurs, pulling him into a hug. Mikey wishes that Pete would follow him to bed and wrap his limbs around him, but he knows that Pete will stay up with Frank for a bit. And that’s fine. 

It is until Mikey hears their hushed voices carry into the bedroom. 

“Why doesn’t he eat?” Frank whispers.

And Mikey pulls the blankets over his head. There’s times when he loves to be cared for, where he craves it. And part of this might be because he wants the attention, he’s secure in himself enough to admit that. But, he doesn’t like the way Frank is asking about his eating, like he’s angry. 

“It’s complicated,” Pete replies.

Meaning, Pete doesn’t really know either. He thinks that part of it is because of his brother, and Mikey sorta thinks so too. Everything always goes back to Gerard, even things that are happening without him here. But he’s right, Mikey stopped eating when they came home and Gerard’s basement was bare. 

He didn’t even leave a note. 

*

“Don’t pout,” Pete chuckles, leaning down to kiss Mikey’s forehead.

Mikey hates it when Pete has to leave for work. “How long?”

“Just the week.”

Mikey huffs.

“I know, baby,” Pete says gently, folding another shirt into his suitcase. Mikey stares at that shirt like it’s to blame for Pete leaving again. The band he’s following isn’t even good, Mikey thinks bitterly. They’re some nu metal wanna be bullshit, he doesn’t know why Pete is wasting his time, they’re nothing like the bands that the label usually goes for. Variety, he assumes. Though, Fueled by Ramen has all whiny emo bands, so why can’t Pete’s label have a type? Nothing wrong with that. 

“You’ll hardly have time to miss me,” Pete says, “I know you’re working extra holiday hours.”   


“Yeah,” he says dully.

“Mikey,” Pete sighs, and Mikey waves him off. He doesn’t want to have this conversation again. The one where Pete looks all sad and starts to find ways of getting out of his trip last minute. It’s one that always makes Mikey feel guilty and ends up making him feel worse while Pete is gone. It’s better to just detach a bit and let him leave without much of a fuss.

He knows, ok. He fucking knows he has attachement issues. He knows that the reason he’s so bent out of shape about Pete leaving is because of Gerard. He thinks Pete will find the sun too and leave Mikey behind.

And when Pete finally crawls into bed with Mikey, he always tries to make it up to him. Tries to show him that there’s no way he’s leaving him. That he can’t go anywhere Mikey isn’t. 

He’ll kiss and caress all of Mikey’s favorite places, like the back of the knee or right under his left hip. He grins at Mikey’s insistent hands and his breathy whines, but Pete keeps the pace slow. On these nights he keeps Mikey trembling in a sheen of sweat well into the early hours of the morning. Waits until he’s on the brink of insanity before letting the emotion he’s been building up all night, all the love he’s been kissing into his skin come to wash over them in drowning waves, pulling a strangled cry from Mikey’s throat. And while Mikey is floating down, Pete will drape himself over him, hug him tightly so Mikey feels weighed down to the bed, just the way he likes it. He’ll press shaky kisses to his temple and smooth the damp hair off his forehead, whispering promises and dreams that Mikey still can believe in. 

When Mikey wakes up the next morning, Pete is gone. He knows that’s another reason why he keeps him up so late. Bastard.

Mikey gets himself up and shuffles into the kitchen to make his own tea. He hates this.  _ Hates _ it so much. He likes his routine and standing in the empty kitchen watching his water boil is so fucking lonely. 

People always assume that Mikey is an introvert because he seems so quiet. And that’s the total opposite. He can’t stand to be alone. He likes to be around someone at all times, he likes to feed off their stories, their sniffles and laughter. Just knowing that there’s someone else around him, that he’s not doing this all alone. That’s all he wants. 

He grew up having Gerard next to him at all times. Even with their age difference, they were practically glued to the hip. Even when Gerard moved down to the basement when he started college, Mikey would just sit on Gerard’s bed and watch him paint. And Gerard would take breaks to come over and help Mikey with his math homework or give him advice that never really worked out on how to ask a boy out. And then on the weekends they’d go to the comic book store or they’d go to some thrift outlet and try to find weird shit. And they’d end their nights at some venue, drinking whatever was cheap and would get the job done. 

His kettle goes off at the same time the doorbell rings. 

Mikey frowns and goes to open the door, confused to see Frank standing there. “Um, hey.”

Frank has a bag full of groceries. “Hey,” he says, before pushing pass Mikey and heading into the kitchen. 

“Uh, what are you doing?” Mikey asks with the door still open.

“Making you breakfast.”   


“I have work…”

“Yeah, at seven right?”

“Yeah, um, I have to leave in like five minutes to make the train.”

“Good thing I planned on driving you to work then, huh?”

Mikey blinks, but he doesn’t move to close the door or go to the kitchen. Frank frowns and sets down his paper bag. “Look, Pete texted me.”

Mikey shuts the door slowly. “Oh.”

“I don’t think you should walk to work either, it’s really cold out there today. Let me make you some oatmeal and then I’ll drive you to work.”

Mikey snorts. “Oatmeal?”

“With pecans,” Frank says with a grin, and Mikey hates that he told Frank his weakness for pecans. Frank looks into their fridge, “And cinnamon apples, and...if you guys didn’t eat all the..yes, ok, and with coconut yogurt on top.”

Mikey smiles. “Ok, I guess you can stay.”

Frank chuckles. “Come sit down, Mikeyway, I think your tea is done.”

*

So they get into a rhythm, and it helps a lot. 

Mikey doesn’t really know how to explain their dynamic to himself, let alone other people. If he wasn’t already dating Pete, he’d think he was dating Frank. The way that Frank comes by to pick him up at work if Pete is stuck late at the office, or how he rolled his eyes and tucked Mikey’s cold toes into a new pair of boots. Well, not new, but nicely thrifted. And sometimes he thinks that Pete is with Frank, not instead of Mikey, but also. Pete is also with Frank. They’ll curl up on the couch together, Frank’s feet in Pete’s lap so he can work out the knots that Frank’s made from bouncing from the kitchen to the register. Frank will talk band management with Pete, letting him yell out his frustrations over one of his bands refusing to move onto a bigger label that’ll let them become the band that they’re meant to be. 

“Sometimes it’s not about that,” Frank will whisper, “Sometimes the kids just want to play just to play, man. It’s not an end goal for everyone, it’s just fun.”

And Mikey always gets sort of winded by that explanation too. He knows that it’s going to take a lot of late night talks with Frank to get that drilled into his head when Pete is still hanging onto the regret that his band never made it to that next step. And they were right on the edge of greatness, Mikey could taste it for Pete. They were so close to being unstoppable that Pete still vibrates with it at shows sometimes. Mikey’ll see the way Pete grips his hands to stop himself from moving his fingers over ghosted bass strings. 

“Where are you?” Gerard asks, “with them. Who are you to them?”

And Mikey has to sit and finish half his cigarette before he can answer, because it’s not that he hasn’t thought about it before. But, he just hasn’t come up with an answer yet. He knows that they care for him, that Pete loves him. But what does he contribute to them, that’s what Gerard is asking and what Mikey is wondering.

“I don’t know,” Mikey whispers.

Gerard hums. “I just don’t like it, Mikes,” he says softly, “It’s like, well…”

And Mikey can fill in the blanks. Pete and Frank would make a more balanced relationship than Pete and Mikey. Or even Frank and Mikey. 

He’s the one that needs to be taken care of. He’s the one that needs. 

“Yeah,” Mikey breathes.   


“I just want you to take care of yourself,” Gerard says. 

Mikey wants to yell at Gerard. Scream at him that he wasn’t supposed to take care of himself. That was Gerard’s job. They were supposed to take care of each other. He wants to shout that maybe the reason he leans so heavily on Pete is because Gerard fucking left. He got clean and left his dirty brother behind in a dingy venue. 

“I am,” Mikey lies, “I’m fine.”

Please see through the lie. Please come home to me.

“Ok, Mikes.”

*

Then there’s a period of time where Mikey is working so much at the bookstore during the end of November that he doesn’t really see Pete or Frank. He leaves Pete to go visit Frank on Wednesdays without him and Friday nights are Mikeyless as well. 

Frank insists on cooking a Thanksgiving dinner for Pete and Mikey, and Mikey wished he wouldn’t. Mikey hates holidays, and Pete usually respects that. They don’t do anything special on Thanksgiving usually, just sit on the couch and watch the parade and  _ maybe _ they’ll share a pumpkin pie and put on  _ Planes, Trains, and Automobiles _ . But that’s if Mikey can stomach anything, which usually isn’t the case. 

So that’s how Mikey ends up peeling carrots with a grumpy expression while Frank is feeding Pete bits of the tofurkey, “See, you can’t even tell, can you?”   


“Oh I definitely can,” Pete laughs, “But it tastes good, I’ll give you that.”

Frank rolls his eyes and sprinkles pecans on top of the sweet potato casserole, “Extra pecans just for you, Mikeyway.”

Pete gives him a wink, but Mikey doesn’t say anything. 

Pete frowns and comes over to wrap his arms around Mikey’s bony shoulders. “Hey,” he murmurs lowly, trying to trick Mikey into thinking that Frank isn’t listening, “Where’s your head at today?”

“Here,” he whispers.

Pete clicks his tongue and rests his chin in the curve of Mikey’s neck. “Did you call your brother?”

Mikey shakes his head. 

“Why don’t you do that? You’ll feel better.”

“I won’t.”

“Mikey…”

“Yeah,” Mikey breathes and slides out of his chair, pulling his phone out of his pocket and going outside. He lights a cigarette and waits until he hears Gerard’s light, “Hey, you.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Mikey mumbles.

Gerard laughs a little. “Who shot your dog?”

“Ha,” Mikey breathes out with cigarette smoke.   


“Not feeling festive?”

“That’s Pete’s thing.”

“You guys just watching the parade and eating pie?”

“No, Frank’s cooking.”

“Oh?” Gerard asks, then, “That’s nice. When’s the last time you had a real Thanksgiving dinner?”

“ S’not a real Thanksgiving dinner. He’s vegan.”

Gerard laughs for real this time and Mikey has to close his eyes because it’s almost too much. And then he has to snap his eyes open because he sees his brother,  _ his _ Gerard not this one on the phone, and it fucking hurts. 

“Well, I’m glad you called actually.”

Mikey’s cheeks warm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I have some news.”

Mikey frowns, and before he can ask what it is, Gerard blurts out, “I’m going to be a dad.”

When Mikey was in the fourth grade, he learned about sedimentary rocks. How these rocks are formed by other particles coming together and growing in size, becoming one solid formation under pressure from the ocean floor or whatever. Mikey thinks that’s what’s wrong with him. That there’s this sedimentary rock sitting at the bottom of his stomach that keeps growing in size from all the bullshit that’s thrown his way. From Mikey dropping out of college. From Mikey stumbling around venues and watching bands that he’ll never be a part of. From watching Pete’s dreams come true only to see it ripped from him. From coming home to find Gerard gone. From watching Pete find something to care about again while Mikey found a bookstore to hide in. From watching Frank live a watered down version of Pete and Mikey’s aspirations. From watching Pete fall in love with Frank. And now this.

It's no wonder why he can’t eat. 

“Mikes?”

Mikey hangs up the phone and leans back against the brick of their apartment building. He didn’t grab his coat, so he just sinks further into Pete’s sweater and ignores the vibrations of his phone. 

Eventually the door opens and Pete comes out. “Hey, your brother called me.”

Mikey shakes his head.

“Ok,” Pete says softly, “Dinner’s done. Want to come in? Your lips are turning blue.”

Mikey wipes at his eyes, “Yeah, ok.”

Pete sighs, like he was ready to put up a fight if needed. He holds out his hand and helps Mikey to his feet, pulling him into a hug. 

“Please don’t,” Mikey whispers.

“I’m not,” Pete promises, “I’m just holding my boyfriend.”

Mikey snorts and nuzzles against him. “Uh huh.”   


Pete hugs him tighter for a moment, then lets him go so he can open the door. 

Frank eyes him apprehensively, but he smiles and hands Mikey a plate. Mikey takes it even though he’s not going to be able to eat. He takes small portions of everything Frank made though, enough to taste everything and not hurt Frank’s feelings. 

When he sits at the coffee table and Pete turns on  _ Planes, Trains, and Automobiles _ like they usually do on Thanksgiving nights, Mikey just stares at his plate like it’s mocking him. Like it’s daring him to try and shove more in his stomach. There’s no room, Mikey thinks sadly. 

Mikey wonders what Pete said to Gerard on the phone. If he told him off for making Mikey this way. Or if he was polite and told him that Mikey just wasn’t feeling well today. He can imagine both situations.

There was a time where Pete was all angry all the time. Back when his band was starting to deteriorate and Pete thought if he fought hard enough, he’d be able to stop it’s eventual demise. Mikey still thinks about the night Pete told off Gerard in the parking lot by the bus. He remembers seeing Gerard’s eyes water as he stared at Mikey like he had betrayed him. Sometimes Mikey wonders if that night was the justification Gerard needed to leave. 

He can tell that Frank wants to say something about Mikey not eating, just stirring his fork through the small portions. 

“I’m going to bed,” Mikey says softly, getting up and picking up his plate. 

He scrapes it in the trash and tries not to wince at the loud noise it makes when he drops it a little harder than he wanted in the sink. Then he hurries to crawl under the safety of his blankets. 

When he hears footsteps, he pulls the blankets down to tell Pete that he’s fine. But it’s Frank who crawls into the bed next to him. Mikey shifts away and eyes the open door, wondering what he’s supposed to do here. What he wants to do, and what  _ can _ he do. 

Frank doesn’t reach for him, just lays his head on Pete’s pillow and looks at him. He says softly, “I didn’t know what I wanted to do after high school, I hated school so much that I didn’t really even consider college a possibility. So, I just started working as a dishwasher at the italian place my dad’s buddy owned.”

Mikey pulls the blanket up under his chin and settles in for the rest of the story. 

“They were short a line cook one night and the boss just pulled me from behind the sink and threw me to the wolves basically. And it was great. It was like playing a show almost, just straight adrenaline, you know?”

Mikey didn’t know, but he nodded anyway.

“And I chased that speed for a while, until I started to really learn about food. About the comforts and how something as simple as pecans can make someone’s day.”

Mikey blushes and Frank taps him on the tip of his nose. “It’s comforting to me too. To work through a recipe, follow the steps and slow down to make sure what I’m making is nurturing and fulfilling. It’s not just about cranking out plates of food in a line kitchen.” Frank sits up and pulls Mikey’s glasses off him and sets them on the nightstand. “What I’m trying to say is that there’s a difference between doing something just to present something even if it’s bland, and taking your time to make sure that the flavors marinate together and become something with meaning.”

Mikey can feel the confusion on his face, and Frank’s fingers reach down to smooth out his knitted eyebrows. “I can see you just trying to rush to the finish line, Mikeyway. You’re trying to get somewhere you think you’re meant to be without taking time to become that person,” he whispers.

Mikey feels his lip quirk up into the almost smile that Pete always kisses to make grow. He wonders if Frank will learn to do that one day. “I have to marinate?”

Frank snorts, “yeah.”

*

The next time Pete has to leave isn’t so bad. Now that Mikey knows that Frank will be around more.

“So are you still with the yummy bass player?” Brendon asks while Mikey waits for Frank to pick him up. 

It’s the lull before the evening rush and Brendon is pricing a new stack of books. Mikey shoots him a look, to which Brendon laughs, “What? I keep seeing that cute little punk kitten around here more.”

“He’s a friend of ours.”

“ _ O _ h,” Brendon says dramatically, “Well why didn’t you say so?”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Not like that.”

“Sure.”   


Mikey sips his coffee. “It’s not,” he insists.

“He likes you,” Brendon says, “And you can’t tell me you don’t like him.”   


“I’m with Pete.”

“No rule saying you can’t have both.”

“Quit pushing your Mormon vibes onto me, I’m not having two wives.”

Brendon howls in laughter, “Like I haven’t heard that one before!”

Mikey shakes his head and tosses his paper coffee cup in the bin when he sees Frank’s clunky sedan pull up in the driveway. “I gotta go.”

“Enjoy your night,” he says in a suggestive tone and Mikey has to hurry out before he blushes even more. 

“Hey,” Frank greets, turning the heat on full blast and pulling Mikey’s hands to the vents even though he was only outside for less than a minute. “I gotta stop back by the cafe for a minute. Do you mind? Or I can drop you off home if you rather crash.”   


“I’m fine.”   


“You sure?” Frank asks, narrowing his eyes, “You look like you’re about to drop.”

“It’s always busy this time of year.”

Frank pulls out of the parking lot. “Yeah,” he says softly, like he’s keeping himself from saying something else. Mikey just lets them sit without speaking while he drifts into whatever band Frank has playing through the speakers. They’re good, but Frank always has good taste in music.

“Who are these guys?”   


“Right?” Frank says, lighting up, “They’re the band Pete’s scouting this weekend. He gave me their demo.”

Mikey’s heart sinks a little, because he remembers when that was just his and Pete’s thing.

If Frank noticies the change in Mikey, he doesn’t say anything. They pull up to Frank’s cafe and he turns off the engine. “Come inside, it’s too cold to sit out here. I won’t be long.”

Mikey nods and trails behind him like a puppy. Frank takes his hand when they get inside to stop him from finding a table. “You can come on back,” he explains, pulling him behind the counter and through the kitchen door. 

The kitchen isn’t chaotic like Mikey always sees on television, but then he remembers Frank’s speech about taking the time to do things right. And that’s exactly what his kitchen looks like. There’s only a handful of chefs hanging around, stirring things and tasting others. There’s no urgency. Everyone looks like they’re right where they’re supposed to be.

And it smells amazing. While his stomach might not always work right, his nose certainly does. The mix of spices and the warmth that wafts through the room enclose Mikey in a cocoon and he thinks he’s

“Mikey!” Frank exclaims, and Mikey doesn’t realize that the room spun until he was being lifted up and held against Frank’s chest. “Hey, ok, easy,” he murmurs, walking them through the kitchen and into what looks to be a closet turned into an office. Frank lifts Mikey and sets him down on the edge of his desk, standing in between his legs. He frames Mikey’s face in his hands. “Hey, when’s the last time you ate?”

Mikey shakes his head free of Frank’s hands and hides his face in the curve of his neck instead. He does feel exhausted now, and dizzy. He feels like he’s just woken up from a nap with feverish confusion, the kind where everything spins and he just has to lay his sweaty head back down on a cool pillow and fall back to sleep.

“Mikey, hey, do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“No,” Mikey mumbles. 

Frank cradles the back of his head and holds Mikey to him. “Ok,” he says gently, “Can you tell me when the last time you ate was? Did you eat lunch?”

Mikey shakes his head. He never eats at work.

“So all you had today was the five bites of oatmeal I saw you eat this morning?”

Mikey nods.

“And you didn’t eat last night, did you?”

He shakes his head. 

“No of course not,” Frank mutters.

Frank pets the back of Mikey’s head for a moment, and it’s nice. He almost can fall asleep like this, almost, because Frank moves back. “I’m going to grab you something. Just wait here. Try not to pass out on my desk.”

Mikey huffs a laugh. 

“Yeah, ok,” Frank whispers, and Mikey wonders if he’s going to call Pete. 

There’s only a minute or two before Frank is coming back in with a steaming bowl. “Here we go,” he says gently. He stands in front of Mikey and holds out a spoonful of orange goo and rice. But it smells amazing, so Mikey opens his mouth. “Yeah, Pete really likes the ginger carrot soup too,” he murmurs. 

Mikey eyes him. “Do you usually put rice in it?”   


“No, that’s just for you, babycakes,” Frank says with a wink, trying to make light of the situation and Mikey appreciates it. 

Mikey wonders if Frank’s had to deal with this before, or maybe it’s just because he knows food so well. The soup doesn’t make Mikey feel intimidated, it leaves him warm and the rice helps fill him up slowly. 

“I can feed myself,” he says after a few spoonfuls.

“Yeah,” Frank says, “I know, but I’d feel better if you let me do this.”

Mikey thinks back to Pete’s comment about feederism kinks and he laughs a bit, startling the rice of the spoon. 

Frank quirks an eyebrow. “Share the joke?”

Mikey leans in to slurp up the soup left on the spoon. “Pete.”

And that’s all he really has to say because Frank smirks. “Oh, of course.”

When Frank scrapes the last of the soup into a spoonful he sighs, “I don’t expect you’ll let me get you some cake or anything with fat?”

“Your soup had coconut milk in it.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Ok, smartass.”

Mikey grins at him. “No, I don’t want cake.”

“Handful of pecans?”

“Are they candied?”   


“I can make that happen,” Frank says with hope in his voice.

Mikey blushes. “Frank.”

“Mikey, just,” Frank runs a hand through his hair, “Pete trusts me with you. I don’t…”

Mikey frowns, oh. Oh, of course. Frank was only doing this for Pete.

“Yeah, you’re doing fine,” Mikey whispers, “Any pecans are fine. I just want to go home.”

Frank stares back at him, searching his face. But Mikey is good at hiding his emotions, at least that’s what everyone tells him. Gerard’s really the only one who can read him. And Pete with certain things. Frank doesn’t know him like that though, and he’s not going to. So, Mikey isn’t worried that he sees the lie.

“Ok,” Frank says gently, “I just needed to sign for a delivery. We can go, I’ll grab your pecans.” 

Mikey gets off the desk without taking Frank’s outstretched hand and follows Frank out to the kitchen. He scoops some pecans into a little baggie and hands it to Mikey, who just takes them all in his hand and shoves them in his mouth. Frank stares for a moment, still searching, but doesn’t say anything and leads the way back out to the car. 

*

“Frank thinks you’re mad at him,” Pete says, sitting on the closed toilet seat lid. 

Mikey opens his eyes and sighs. “I thought we agreed that bath time was me time.”

Pete grins. “I’m sorry to interrupt your sparkly bath bombs.”

“I used the unicorn one this time,” Mikey says, holding up his hand to show Pete the glitter that was still stuck to his hand. 

He grins. “Yeah I see that. Is that going to stain the tub that purple color?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”   


“Can’t wait,” Pete teases, then he cocks his head to the side. “Seriously, Mikey, what’s going on with you and Frank.”

The rest of the weekend that Pete was gone was awkward to say the least. Frank still came by every morning to cook Mikey breakfast and Mikey made the effort to force himself to finish the bowl of oatmeal. Frank pursed his lips, but never said anything.

“Mikey?”

Mikey leans back so the water is up to his chin. “Nothing.”

Pete sighs. “And Gerard keeps calling me.”   


“What are you, my secretary?”

“Feels like it,” Pete bites out, and Mikey winces a little.

Pete sighs and gets up to come to his knees next to the tub. “Sit up, I’ll wash your hair.”

“Kinda pointless with the purple glitter water,” Mikey mutters, even though he  _ loves _ it when Pete washes his hair. 

“Shut up and sit up,” Pete huffs a laugh, shaking his head, “You’re so damn stubborn, Mikeyway.”

Mikey grins and sits up, handing him the shampoo. He doesn’t say anything as Pete works the suds into Mikey’s blond strands. “I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Pete says gently, “But you’re a good person with a kind heart, and I know you don’t want to hurt Frank or Gerard.”

Mikey doesn’t say anything, just frowns at the facet. 

Pete tugs at his hair, making Mikey look up at him. “So, I know you’re going to apologize. In your own time, I know and they both know too. Just,” Pete frowns, “Try not to take too long. I know it’s hurting you too.”

*

Frank startles when he sees Mikey standing next to Pete at his next gig. Mikey’s been skipping them lately, and Pete was even surprised when Mikey laced up his boots next to Pete on the couch earlier that night. 

“You looked good up there,” Mikey says softly, and he feels Pete squeeze his hand before going to the bar to give them some privacy.

Frank grins. “Oh yeah?”

Mikey just nods and looks down at the floor to toe at a cigarette butt. It reminds him of his own pack sitting in his back pocket, so he lights up. 

“We good?” Frank asks gently.

Mikey blows out smoke. “We were never bad.”   


“Mikey…”

Mikey shakes his head. “I just get weird about the eating thing.”

“I know.”

“So,” Mikey says, flicking ash just to do something with his hands, “I just felt weird that you saw me get that way.”   


Frank’s hand curves around Mikey’s bony hip. “You don’t have to feel ashamed.”

Mikey frowns at Frank’s hand on his hip. He can’t tell what Frank wants with him. What the hell could he want with a pile of bones held together by pale, weak flesh?

“Mikey,” Frank murmurs.

Mikey looks up at Frank. He’s such an open book, he can’t hide anything on his face, but there’s so much that Frank is feeling that Mikey can’t figure out what the whole story is. His eyes are warm and comforting, but his eyebrow is raised in question. His lips are in a frown, but his hands are confident. Mikey just wants to crawl into his mind and take a stroll between his neurons, just to see what he’s thinking. 

“We’re fine Frank,” Mikey says softly, then amends to ease the worry line stretched on Frank’s forehead, “I’m fine.”

Frank sighs and pulls him into a hug, and Mikey waits a beat before allowing himself to melt into it. 

*

It happens on the day that Frank has to be at the cafe early to accept a delivery and Pete is up state at a meeting. Mikey knows that he should be walking with at least an earbud out, to have some kind of awareness of his surroundings. He’s lived in the rough part of Jersey his whole life, he fucking knows better. But what’s that about hindsight being 20/20?

Mikey groans on the cement longer than he should. The snow feels good against his split lip though and the fresh bruises blooming on his cheekbone and jaw. He at least had the brains to curl into a ball when the fists came at him, he knew better than to let his stomach stay exposed. They had ripped his bag off him and taken his phone, which Mikey is pissed about because it had all of Gerard’s playlists downloaded. It was the only tether he had to his brother left and now it was gone. 

“Oh my God! Honey, are you ok?” He hears.

Mikey rolls onto his back and looks up to see an elderly lady. She holds out a hand. “Here, let’s get you inside.”

Mikey takes her hand and winces as she gets him up on his feet. He must really weigh next to nothing if she was able to pull him up. She puts a hand on the small of his back and leads him to the apartment building he was laid out in front of. She doesn’t let go of him until she gets him seated at the kitchen table. 

“Coffee?”

“Please,” Mikey whimpers.

She purses her lips and pours him a mug. “Do you have someone you can call?”

Mikey’s about to shake his head before he sighs, “Yeah, can I borrow your phone?”

“Treehouse Cafe, this is Ray.”   


“Hey, it’s Mikey. Can I speak to Frank?” Mikey croaks.

“Oh,” Ray says softly, clearly hearing the distress in Mikey’s voice, “Yeah, Mikey, let me get him for you.”

A couple beats later, “Mikey?” Frank asks urgently.

“I got jumped,” Mikey mumbles.

“Shit,” Frank breathes, and Mikey hears rustling, then, “Ray, I have to go...can you...yeah, yeah. Mikey, where are you?”

“Um,” Mikey says then looks up to the and his savior smiles gently at him and holds out her hand for the phone. Mikey hands it off and watches her tell Frank her address and assures him that Mikey is not bleeding out or anything before she chuckles and hangs up the phone. “You have yourself a keeper.”

“Oh he’s not my…”

“Honey, I’m old, not stupid.”

Mikey grins and he takes a sip of his coffee, wincing at the hot liquid on his cut lip. It takes less than it probably should have for Frank to show up at the front door. Mrs. Anderson, he figures out, opens the door and Frank rushes through the apartment to Mikey, thanking her quickly. He drops to his knees in front of Mikey and runs his hands over his face, frowning at the bruises. 

“You should probably take him to an urgent care or something,” She says, “Just to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion. He didn’t throw up or say he was dizzy though, all good signs.”

Frank nods. “Yeah, yes, thank you,” he whispers. He runs his fingers gently over the back of Mikey’s skull and hisses when Mikey whimpers and tries to pull away. “Yeah, going to have a knot there, let’s get you to the doc.”

Mikey doesn’t fight him even though he hates going to the doctor’s. Frank hooks an arm around Mikey’s waist and helps him out of Mrs. Anderson’s apartment with another round of thank yous before getting him seated in his car. 

Frank taps his phone on his thigh. 

“Thinking about calling Pete, but I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” Frank whispers.

“Wait till he gets home,” Mikey says weakly. It hurts to talk.

Frank doesn’t look like he likes that idea either. “Yeah, he might skin me alive for not telling him before then.”

Mikey snorts. “I think he’s more cruelty-free than you are,” then he starts coughing. 

Frank looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm. “Ok, no more talking for you. Pete really will kill me if you die.”

“Matching headstones is a bit too emo for me,” he coughs.

“What did I say about talking?” Frank snaps, but he’s blushing, and Mikey just chalks it up to being delirious from being beaten into the cement that made him say that. 

Frank gets him into an exam room pretty quickly, despite it being the holiday season and the waiting room being packed. He wonders what sort of hell he had to raise at the reception desk to get Mikey pushed through. 

“Just call him,” Mikey whispers, so he doesn’t start coughing. 

Frank sighs and puts his phone away. “I will when the doctor says you’re ok.”

Mikey smiles and lays back on the exam table. Sitting up hurts too.

After a round of X-Rays, CT Scans, and cold fingers poking at him, Mikey is cleared to go. Frank helps Mikey up the stairs to his apartment and settles him into bed. He sits at the end of the bed and unties his boots, pulling them off gently and rubbing the arches of Mikey’s feet. 

Mikey leans back and melts into the pain meds that the doctor gave him. 

“Doing better, Mikes?” Frank whispers.

“Mmm,” Mikey hums, closing his eyes. 

Frank chuckles and he feels him pull the blankets up and over him, tucking in the sides and kissing his forehead. Mikey leans into the kiss and he hears another huff of soft laughter before another kiss presses against his forehead. 

“Go to sleep,” Frank murmurs, tracing his bandaged eyebrow lightly with his thumb. 

*

When Mikey wakes up, he’s between Frank and Pete. Pete’s eyes are wide with worry, and when he sees Mikey become more coherent he whispers, “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Mikey quirks a small smile, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Pete pulls Mikey closer to him, and it’s only then that Mikey realizes that Frank’s arms were wrapped around his waist. Mikey curls into Pete’s chest, finding his comfy spot that fits him perfectly against Pete. His cheek aches a bit when he lays it down against Pete, but it doesn’t bother Mikey enough to move.

Pete rubs Mikey’s back gently. “Do you need anything? More pain meds?”

Mikey shakes his head. “In a little bit. I want to be awake with you for a bit first. I missed you.”

“It was just a day,” Pete says gently.

Mikey shakes his head, pushing his bruise against Pete’s strong chest but he leans into the pain for a moment. Because it means he’s alive. 

He remembers when Gerard got held up at his job when he worked at a comic book store. Gerard had crawled into bed with Mikey that night, and for the next few nights actually. Mikey had asked if his life flashed before his eyes like everyone says and Gerard shook his head. “I just kept thinking about how mad I was going to be if I didn’t get to finish ‘Man without Fear’.”

Mikey had snorted, but he noticed Gerard’s shaky hands and took them in his. “You’re ok now,” he had whispered. 

Mikey hadn’t even had a moment to think about what he was going to be angry about if he died. He had been walking to the station with his headphones in, listening to another one of Gerard’s weird soundscapes and trying to find whatever meaning in it that he was supposed to when he hit the ground. He didn’t get punched in the face or anything at first. He was just shoved to the ground and then there were hands gripping his bag and trying to pry the phone out of Mikey’s hands. He had gripped it tightly, unwilling to lose the last of Gerard he had when the fist collided with his jaw. Mikey still hung on even as he curved into himself. And then there were heavy boots at his back and his arms, trying to hit his chest and stomach, trying to land a devastating enough blow that would make Mikey release the phone. It was the hard kick to his kneecap that did it, Mikey had screamed out in pain and earned a couple more kicks to the back before he heard them run off. 

“Mikey?” Frank whispers.

Pete’s arm around Mikey tightens. “He’s here, Frankie, it’s ok.” Pete reaches over Mikey with his other arm and Frank scoots closer, curling himself gently against Mikey.

Mikey sighs and leans back against Frank, earning a small smile from Pete. 

Mikey watches Pete’s eyes as he reaches over Mikey to smooth Frank’s hair out of his eyes, the same gesture that he’s done to Mikey so many times. He watches the tenderness in Pete’s eyes, the same that he always washes Mikey in. 

Frank’s breath quickens behind Mikey’s neck, and Mikey takes Frank’s hand off his hip to place on Pete’s cheek. He watches Pete’s eyes close and turn into his hand, pressing his lips to Frank’s palm. 

A thank you for taking care of Mikey when he couldn’t.

A thank you for coming into their lives. 

*

It’s a week before Christmas when Pete says, “I think we should ask Frank to spend Christmas with us.”

Mikey frowns and sips his hot chocolate. 

Pete eyes him warily, like he had said the wrong thing.

The week after Mikey’s attack had them all walking on eggshells. Because Frank taking care of Mikey, and Mikey leaning into his care, really changed up the dynamic. It had always been Pete and Mikey versus the world, but suddenly they had someone else to hold them up. At first, it was concerning to watch Pete let Frank help with Mikey. Pete kept wanting to get up and grab Mikey’s pain meds or get him another cup of tea, but Frank had patted his knee gently and said, “I’ve got it, just relax.”

After a while it was a bit humorous to watch Pete look so unsure of what to do when Frank kissed the top of his head and got up to help Mikey to the bathroom. But, Mikey still climbed onto his lap when Pete got home from work so that he knew that he was still important even if Mikey didn’t need him all the time now. Pete would lean into the touch and it felt more balanced somehow. That the pressure wasn’t weighed solely on Pete anymore. 

“What?” Pete asks finally, waiting for Mikey to explain why it looks like he poured sour milk into his hot chocolate. 

“I just thought he already was spending Christmas with us,” Mikey says softly.

Pete beams at him.

*

Christmases were a little more festive in Pete and Mikey’s apartment, only because Pete gets so into the holiday spirit. On Christmas Eve they usually put up their small Christmas tree that they shove in their bedroom closet after the day after Christmas because it bothers Mikey too much. 

But that plan went to shit when Frank showed up on Christmas Eve with a real tree. Mikey had shook his head and said, “We don’t even have ornaments!”

Frank grinned and threw down a stack of paper.

Which is why Mikey is threading yarn through paper snowflakes and handing them to Pete or Frank to hang. “I didn’t know you were such a Christmas Elf,” Mikey teases.

Frank rolls his eyes. “You know, the short jokes will never get old.”

“Maybe it’s because you can’t hear them all the way down there.”

“I’m the same height as Pete!”

“Trust me,” Pete says, “I’ve had to listen to them for years.”

Mikey shares a knowing smile and hands him another snowflake. He half expects Frank to ask him why he’s such a scrooge, but he never does so he figures Pete let him in on it. He thinks that Pete has to be a Mikey interpreter for Frank a lot, but Frank doesn’t seem to mind it. Neither does Pete. 

There’s things that Mikey wants to ask Frank too. Things that he just knows about Pete that he doesn’t about Frank. Like why he’s here with them instead of his family. Or why he wanted to spend Thanksgiving cooking for two sad boys, one of which didn’t even eat after he had put in so much effort. 

Pete’s asleep on the couch, laid out on top of both Mikey and Frank with his head in Mikey’s lap. Mikey sweeps his grown out hair out of his eyes, trying to get it to hook behind his ear but there’s some shorter pieces that still swing stubbornly out. “What are your parents doing for Christmas?” Mikey asks lightly.

Frank turns down the television and smiles knowingly at Mikey. “I’ll see them for dinner tomorrow. I told Pete you guys are welcomed over, but he said you might not be up to it.”

Mikey nods and turns his gaze back to Pete’s sleeping face. He traces under his eyes, the bluish tint revealing that he’s been working too much again. “Yeah,” he replies softly.

Frank waits a moment to see if Mikey will elaborate and when he doesn’t he asks, “Why don’t you go to your parents for the holidays?”

Mikey’s eyebrows knit together. “What did Pete tell you?”

“Just that holidays are hard for you. He said you’d explain when you were ready.”

Mikey huffs a breathy laugh. “Yeah, he would.” Pete wouldn’t let Mikey off the hook in having this conversation with Frank, it was an important one. Especially if Frank was important. 

And he was, so Mikey says softly, “I haven’t been back to my parents since my first hospital visit.” Mikey pauses to think, “Which was shortly after Gerard left...so, almost three years or so.”

Frank shifts a little and rubs at Pete’s calves. Both of them using Pete to get through this conversation. 

“You were in the hospital because of the eating thing?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, stroking Pete’s hair.

The first time had been bad. Mikey wasn’t eating at all. And it only took a few days after they got home and found Gerard gone for Mikey to collapse in the driveway. Luckily, Pete was there to catch him. His mom called 911 and Mikey woke up to a feeding tube in his nose. Pete had his hand that wasn’t hooked up to the IV sandwiched in between his. When Pete realized that Mikey had woken up he rushed up to kiss his forehead. “I’ve got you, baby, you’re safe now.”

And Mikey had cried.

And Gerard hadn’t called. 

“He’s in his own recovery,” his mom had said, “He’s getting clean, and it’s a really hard time for him.”

Mikey had walked out then. 

They both got the first jobs they could, Pete at a gas station before he found the label and Mikey at the bookstore and they crashed on friends’ couches until they could put down a deposit on their shithole that they call home. The cabinets were moldy, the floors squeaked, and the refrigerator always creaked like the door would fall off. But it was home and Mikey felt safe here. Pete never dismissed his feelings no matter how selfish everyone else thought Mikey was being. He hurt too and Pete validated that.

“How many times?” Frank asks.

“Four.”

Frank whistles and shakes his head. “No one put you into a treatment facility?”

“They’re usually pretty voluntary unless I’m about to die.”

“The hospital visits aren’t a clue you’re about to die?” Frank bites out.

Mikey shrugs. 

“Mikey,” Frank whispers, “Come on, tell me  _ why _ .”

Mikey eases Pete off his lap and he goes outside to smoke a cigarette. Of course, Frank follows and lights Mikey’s cigarette before lighting his own. 

Mikey sighs and stands near the balcony, looking out over the tops of buildings that they were above. “Pete gets it.”

“He really doesn’t, Mikes,” Frank whispers.

“So you  _ have _ talked about it.”

“Only his side of things,” Frank explains, “Only that he’s scared he’ll wake up one day to a dead body.”

Mikey flinches. “He told you that?”

Frank ashes his cigarette and just stares at Mikey.

Mikey frowns and waits until he’s almost done with his cigarette, considering, before saying, “It’s hard for me to eat.”   
Frank waits for him to continue, letting Mikey finish his cigarette and light another. 

“It’s hard because it feels like there’s this,” Mikey closes his eyes, trying to think of a way to explain it without sounding stupid, “it just feels like I’m so full of emotion already, that there’s no room for anything else in me. It’s just too much.”

When Mikey opens his eyes, Frank is staring at him like he gets it too. And it’s the strangest thing because no one, not Gerard or his parents ever tried to understand this part of him. No one except Pete.

And now Frank.

*

Frank’s band was supposed to play a big New Years Eve show, but they broke up three days before. 

Pete had shown up to Mikey’s work and Brendon pushed Mikey out the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you.”

“What’s going on? What happened?”

“It’s Frank.”

Mikey’s mind went through a dozen cenarios, all of them ended in Frank laying in a hospital somewhere. So, he was confused when Pete took them home. 

Frank was laying in their bed and Mikey hunched down so he was eye level with Frank and stroked his cheek. “Hey, Frankie, what’s going on?”

“Band broke up,” Frank muttered.

Mikey looked up over Frank and pleaded with Pete, who just looked back sadly. They didn’t know how best to fix Frank. They never had a broken Frankie in their laps before. Mikey kept stroking his cheek and Pete went to go fix tea because Pete was the type of person to feed a cold. 

Mikey was all about touch when he was upset, so that’s what he leaned on. He kissed Frank’s forehead and kept his hands moving across Frank’s face, down his back, up his side. And Frank had just breathed through it, which is all Mikey could hope for. When Pete came back with a steaming mug, they shifted Frank until he was sitting up against Pete’s chest, Pete’s legs on either side of Frank’s hips. And Mikey sat in Frank’s lap and tilted the mug of tea against his lips. Pete took Frank’s hands and rubbed slow circles against his pulse points, trying to soothe them. “You’re going to be ok,” Pete whispered.

Because even if they hadn’t had a broken Frankie, they’ve had broken dreams. 

Mikey nods. “You’re more than a band, Frank,” he whispered, the same statement he had to tell Pete when his own band fell apart. 

“It’s all I’ve done,” Frank croaked. 

“That’s not true,” Mikey said, “You have the cafe.”

“It was just for fun,” Pete reminded him, “What about playing just to play without an end goal?”

“I just was telling you that to make you feel better,” Frank said sadly, “That band was everything to me.”   


And Mikey and Pete knew that. They watched him pour everything he had into every show, watched him sit up with his guitar the nights he stayed over to play them songs he had been working on. He wasn’t putting off Pete’s label because the band was having fun, he was marinating. Waiting and putting in the work to make the band what Frank thought it needed to be instead of rushing into a label. 

Mikey kept feeding Frank tea and Pete kept rubbing his wrists until all the tea was gone and Frank’s posture wasn’t as stiff. Mikey leaned into Frank, letting Frank hug him tightly like a teddy bear while Pete held them both. 

“We’ve got you, Frankie,” Mikey whispered into his neck, and Pete kissed his forehead. 

Frank squeezed tighter. 

“Where’s my tight red pants?” Pete asks now, snapping Mikey out of the memory. 

Frank walks out of the bathroom with wide eyes. “I hope they’re in the garbage somewhere.”

Mikey bites his lip to keep from laughing, because the red tight pants were Pete’s favorite going out pants. 

“Who are you to give me fashion advice?” Pete teases, “You wear the same three cardigans. You’re worse than Mikey and his stupid grey knit hat.”

“I like my hat,” Mikey frowns.

“Yeah we know,” Frank says softly.

Mikey shakes his head at him and laces up his boots. 

Mikey’s new phone vibrates on the kitchen counter. 

Pete and Frank stare at it as it moves in a circle. “Mikey,” Pete whispers.

Mikey waits until his phone is still. Gerard hasn’t stopped calling, and he’s resorted to calling Pete every week now. Pete just tells him that Mikey is doing ok and that he’ll tell him to call Gerard. Mikey never does. 

“How long are you going to freeze him out?” Frank asks gently. 

Mikey shrugs and pulls on his jacket. “Are you guys ready, or are we really going to miss the countdown over some red pants?”

Pete finds other clothes quickly and they’re piling into Pete’s car shortly after. The ride to the venue is short, and Frank doesn’t really have enough time to chainsmoke like Mikey knows he wants to, but he’s doing good all things considered. 

When they get inside, Frank goes straight to the bar, but he only gets soda for everyone and Mikey likes that he passed the test even though it wasn’t really a test. The band is good, Frank’s would have been better. Pete has to leave them for a bit to go talk to some label people, so Mikey and Frank work out Frank’s aggression in the pit. They get spat out at the end of the set, sweaty and grinning. 

Pete finds them in time for the countdown, handing them fresh cups of soda. When they get to ten, Mikey holds Frank’s hand and squeezes. He wants to bring in this new year with him. He wants Frank to be a part of Pete and Mikey’s world from now on. He doesn’t want this to just be a fleeting moment in time. At five, Mikey turns to Pete and grins at the fact that this will be their fifth New Years kiss, and the smile on Pete’s face makes him wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.

“Three!” They shout.

“Two!”

“ONE!”

And then Frank’s lips are on Mikey’s. 

And Mikey’s eyes are wide and looking at Pete, who is still just smiling. 

“Happy New Year,” he mouths and so, Mikey closes his eyes and kisses Frank back. Frank is gentle with him, treats him like he’s fragile and Mikey just about swoons at his feet. Frank pulls aways and smiles softly at him. He presses his lips to his once more, twice, then turns and Pete kisses Frank. 

And this is happening.

There’s no more questioning the dynamic because it’s laid out in front of him now. He wonders if Pete and Frank had talked this out, if they had made sure of each other’s feelings. If they both trusted that they knew Mikey enough to surprise him like this. Because, that was really the best way to get Mikey into a new situation. Just throw him in it and see how he reacts, don’t give him time to overthink and underestimate his own value.

Pete reaches for Mikey and kissing him is like coming home, but this kiss feels different. More charged. It’s like he’s kissing Pete for the first time again. And Pete takes his time like it is too, he licks hesitantly at Mikey’s bottom lip like he doesn’t already know that Mikey turns into warm honey as soon as he does that. 

“Home,” Frank whispers against Mikey’s neck, “Let’s go home.”

*

Mikey blows out smoke and hovers over Gerard’s name in his phone. It’s been weeks since the accident and he really misses having Gerard in his ear, even if it’s just his playlists. This is probably the longest that he’s gone without talking to Gerard. Even when he was detoxing, Mikey called him, even when all Gerard could do was make incoherent noises and half formed thoughts into the phone. 

His phone lights up with a text from Frank, asking if he is still working late tonight.

Mikey smiles and tells him that he’ll be off at seven.

They didn’t fuck New Years Eve like Mikey thought they would have. They had gone home and piled on Pete’s bed like that was what they were going to do, but Frank just wanted to kiss and touch. And that was perfect for Mikey. He wanted to get used to the taste of Frank, of how Frank tasted when he was mixed with Pete. How they would taste when they all marinated together. What they would end up being after time. 

Frank had laid in between Pete’s legs, his head rested on Pete’s stomach while Mikey had licked in between Frank’s fingers, straddled on his hips. He nibbled on his fingertips, still able to tell that Frank had made strawberry pie earlier that day. He kissed at his wrists, took his time to mouth at his steady and sure pulse. Frank looked up at him with heavy lids, but didn’t ask for anything more. He didn’t push or want more, he just let Mikey take his time and find his way to whatever it was he was looking for. Pete stroked Frank’s hair and watched Mikey, and it was an experience for him too. To learn not to help Mikey, to learn that Mikey needs others too. 

*

Mikey wakes up to a crash. He sits up and Frank wraps an arm around his waist, pulling Mikey behind him. Frank puts his hand where Pete had been laying and drops his arm. “Pete?”

Shit.

Mikey scrambles out of bed and Frank follows, a little slower and confused. 

Pete’s in the kitchen picking things up and dropping them on the floor. He’s tugging at his hair and his chest is heaving. Mikey leaves Frank standing along the wall and goes to take Pete’s hand.

Pete flails and whines.

“Shh,” Mikey murmurs, taking his hand again and pulling him to sit at the kitchen table. He climbs onto his lap, knowing that Pete likes the weight when he’s like this. Not that Mikey is weighing him down much these days. He frames Pete’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead.

“Shh,” he whispers again, trying to soothe the ragged breathing coming out of Pete’s nose. “Baby, shh.”

Pete shakes his head and tries to break free of Mikey’s hold. Mikey tightens his grip. “Hey, hey, look at me, Pete. Tell me five things you can see right now.”

“Mikey--”

“That’s right, that’s one,” Mikey says gently, “Tell me four more things.”

Pete closes his eyes and swallows before looking around and saying, “Tea kettle, fridge, Frank, mixing bowl.”

Mikey nods and kisses his forehead. “Good, tell me four things you can hear.”

Pete has to focus more on that one. Mikey sits back on Pete’s thighs a little and waits, stroking his hair. “Um, you.”

Mikey grins and nods, gesturing for him to go on. “Uh, cars outside. A clock ticking, and...the neighbors are watching tv or something.”

“Three things you feel,” Mikey whispers.

Pete meets his eyes again. “You.”

Mikey kisses him, already noticing that Pete is much calmer, his breathing is slower even if his hands are still trembling a little. 

“The chair, and my feet on the floor.”

“Good,” Mikey praises softly, “Tell me two things you know.”

Pete leans forward to rest his forehead against Mikey’s and Mikey reaches behind to pet the back of his head. “Tell me, baby,” he encourages gently.

“This will pass,” Pete says quietly. And when they do this exercise, Pete always says something along those lines, like he finally realizes that it’s just an anxiety attack. It’s why Mikey waits until the end to ask him. “And that you love me.”   


“I do,” Mikey murmurs, “So much.”

Pete smiles shyly.

“One deep breath,” Mikey finishes, putting a hand softly on his chest.

Pete inhales dramatically, watching Mikey’s hand rise, then exhales and by the time Mikey’s hand falls as far as it can, Pete’s eyes are closed again. But he looks peaceful. 

Mikey strokes Pete’s cheek for a moment, before asking, “Are you ready to come back to bed now?”

Pete nods. “I’m sorry about the mess.”   


“It’s ok, it wasn’t bad,” Mikey tells him gently, before laughing a little, “We’ve seen worse, haven’t we?”

It’s to make Pete laugh as well as to make him see that he’s gotten through worse. He’s handled messes much bigger than this, so whatever Pete was battling right now was manageable. They could handle it. Especially now that they have Frank. 

Frank comes to them now, and Mikey is grateful that he stood there and let Mikey and Pete have their moment without leaving them alone. He feels confident that Frank will be able to walk Pete through his exercise one day. Feels confident that Frank will still be here for that day to come. 

Pete reaches out to Frank, hesitantly, like he’s afraid that Frank isn’t going to want him now that he sees that he’s broken too. Frank just leans down and kisses him, slow and reassuring.

He’s not going anywhere.

Mikey slides off his lap and he and Frank coax Pete back to their bedroom. Frank lifts up the blanket and Mikey pushes Pete to crawl into the middle, even though that’s usually Mikey’s spot. Frank and Mikey curl in on him from both sides and Pete is asleep within minutes.

“He always is tired after an attack,” Mikey whispers to Frank.

“Anxiety?”

Mikey nods. “Yeah, he used to take pills for it.”   


“Used to?”

Mikey nods, but doesn’t explain. Pete let Mikey tell his story to Frank, so he’s going to return the sentiment. It’s Pete’s story to tell Frank. About the night in the Best Buy parking lot. How Pete had called Mikey because he didn’t know anyone else in Jersey who could get to him quick enough. Who would sit with him in the hospital after they pumped his stomach. Who would understand that a hospital visit was both a call for help and a battle cry at the same time. 

“Mikey?”

“He’s ok, Frankie,” Mikey whispers, stroking Pete’s cheek. “He just gets a little lost sometimes. He thinks he can just work and work to stay away from the hurt, but it always catches up to him. We just have to remind him that he’s not drowning is all.”

He looks over at Frank, and he knows that Frank gets it. Frank is just like them, and they’re like Frank.

“I can do that,” Frank whispers. 

Mikey smiles. 

*

Mikey gasps out and clings to Pete. He doesn’t know how he’s going to survive this. How he’s going to still have a body after the two of them are done devouring him. 

Pete lays him out on the bed, stretches his limbs out and Frank nearly attacks him, licking and sucking at all the skin that Pete laid out for him. Mikey whimpers and squirms under his clothes, they feel too thick against his skin, and feel like too much of a barrier between the three of them. 

And so Pete and Frank take their time slowly undressing Mikey, grinning at each other and stopping to kiss each other over Mikey until he whines and they start paying attention to him again. 

There’s a stronger sense of urgency this time, the caution and patience that Frank had on New Years Eve was gone. But, Mikey could see that coming for a while now. Pete liked to push Frank. Whenever Frank was cooking dinner in their tiny kitchen, Pete would oh so subtly press against Frank to grab a mixing bowl or make sure to linger on his tiptoes when reaching up to grab a pan from their hanging rack. Frank’s eyes would flutter and he’d turn away, but Mikey always held in a laugh as he caught Frank still looking out of his peripheral. 

Sometimes he teased Frank with Mikey. He’d pull Mikey into his lap and mouth at his throat while Frank pretended to watch a movie. Mikey would get into it too, just begging Frank to please touch them. 

And he started to learn that Frank wasn’t just waiting to let them settle into whatever this was. He was scared. Hesitant. He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to fit into Pete and Mikey’s relationship. And that was a fair uncertainty to have. After five years of building something that was just the two of them, they were learning too. They were shifting to make room for a third, to let Frank in and show him that he was wanted. And not just for an extra body to warm their bed, but he was needed and they were trying to teach him, to include him. 

“He likes it when you kiss him here,” Pete murmurs, pointing at the dip below Mikey’s left hip. Frank grins and kisses him, Mikey arches up into his mouth and Pete puts his hand on Mikey’s hip to settle him. 

Mikey had always thought that threesomes were supposed to be intense and dirty. Moans and exaggerated arches of backs and lean, strong thighs to grip onto. But that was usually in the porn that Mikey watched, so he really didn’t have any idea how threesomes were supposed to go down.

He didn’t expect there to be so much...fumbling at first. Awkward, unsure touches, asks of permission. Pete’s hands gripping Frank’s shoulders only for Frank to pause and move Pete’s hands onto his hips instead. Pete nudging Mikey to Frank, shaky and almost pushing them off the bed. 

Laughter, huffs of giggles and finally they find the rhythm in their dance.

Mikey lays Pete out to show Frank how he likes to get ready, the way to touch him so he melts under loving hands. How to lick the curve of his ear at the same moment he cries out from being stretched.

Frank watches with hungry eyes, but reaches with uncertain hands. Mikey kisses his fingers and lays them against Pete. Mikey kisses the back of Frank’s neck, then licks down his spine. 

Frank pushes into Pete, Mikey mouthing at his throat and watching as his head bows forward to capture Pete’s lips. 

“Frank,” Pete whimpers against his lips.

“Say his name again,” Mikey whispers, reaching down to stroke Pete in time with Frank’s movements. 

“Frank,” Pete pants out.

“Again.”

“Frank.”

Mikey locks eyes with Frank as Pete cries out and spills over Mikey’s hands. 

_ You’re wanted. You’re needed. You matter.  _

Mikey isn’t sure if Frank’s at the point where he can read Mikey, but he nods.

*

Mikey is washing a pan for Frank when his phone starts to vibrate.Mikey doesn’t need to look at the screen to know it’s Gerard.

Frank pauses for a moment, then says, “You should really answer this one, Mikes.”

Mikey raises an eyebrow, but Frank won’t say anymore, so Mikey sighs and wipes his wet hands on his jeans before, “Yeah?”

“Mikey,” Gerard sighs, relieved. It sounds like all the air just left Gerard and he’s a boneless, lifeless somewhere under the hot sun. But then Gerard says, “Can you pick me up from the airport?”

Mikey nearly drops his phone and he’s a little annoyed that Frank is trying so hard to keep his eyes on the caramelizing onions he’s stirring. 

“Mikey?”

“Yeah,” Mikey whispers, “Yeah, be there in a bit. Hang tight.”

“I’ll meet you at baggage claim,” Gerard says slowly, like he’s talking to a frightened animal.

Mikey nods even though Gerard can’t see and hangs up.

“What the fuck,” Mikey says.

Frank turns off the stove and faces Mikey. “He really wanted to talk to you and you wouldn’t answer the phone.”   


“So you flew him here? You had no right, Frank! Neither of you! And I  _ know _ this wasn’t Pete’s idea, he  _ respects _ \--”

“You want to cool it?” Frank snaps, “Because you’re about to say some really hurtful shit that I know you’ll regret in a minute.”

Mikey snaps his mouth closed and glares at him. 

Frank sighs and reaches out for him, but doesn’t make any advances to pull Mikey to him. He waits for Mikey to decide if he wants Frank’s comfort now or not. 

He does. He always does, so Mikey sighs and folds into him.

Frank hugs him, rocking them for a moment. “It was Gerard’s idea. He had already booked the flight. He just called Pete to make sure you would actually see him.”

“I’m scared,” Mikey admits softly to Frank’s chest. 

“I know,” Frank murmurs, “Which is why I’m going to drive you to the airport and I’ll hold your hand the whole way there.”

Mikey grins. “This is why you took the morning off, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Frank asks, pretending he hadn’t even thought of it. 

Mikey snorts. “You’re such a dork. Both of you are.”

Suddenly Pete’s extra affection this morning is making sense. Bastard.

Frank puts the onions into a tupperware container. “Your brother couldn’t have waited until after I was done making butter tofu?”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Probably a good thing, you can’t make vegan butter chicken.”

“You still underestimate my cooking, Mikeyway?” Frank asks, shutting the door to the fridge carefully, “You’re stalling, go get your shoes on so we can go.”

And then they’re in Frank’s car and true to Frank’s word, he doesn’t let go of Mikey’s hand. 

“I don’t know what to say to him.”

Frank flicks on his turn signal and pulls into the airport parking garage. “You say ‘hi’ and that you love him.”

“Yeah?”

Frank parks and turns so he can take both of Mikey’s hands. “Yeah, you start with that.”   


“Start?”

Frank kisses the tip of Mikey’s nose. “Yeah, I have a feeling there’s a lot that’s been unsaid these past three years, huh?”

Mikey blinks and he leans into Frank. “Can you come in with me?”

“No, baby, you should do that part on your own,” Frank says gently, “But I’ll be right here waiting for you guys, ok?”

Mikey nods against Frank’s olive green cardigan. Pete was totally right, he always wears this one or the navy or mustard one. For a punk he sure dresses like a middle aged librarian. Mikey kinda loves it. 

Frank nudges Mikey with, “Go on, Mikes.”

Mikey sighs and pulls away, kissing Frank’s inked hands before getting out of the car. His legs feel like jello when he walks through the airport, but he somehow makes it to the baggage claim and comes to a stop when he sees Gerard’s messy hair sticking out behind a comic book. He’s sitting on the floor against the wall, wearing all black and one converse tapping on the tiled floor. Mikey comes up and sits in front of him and just waits a beat, he knows that Gerard knows he’s there. He’s just waiting for Mikey to make the first move. He keeps reading, or pretending to read, until Mikey puts his hand on top of the comic book and pushes down so that Gerard rests it on his thighs. 

“Hey,” Mikey says softly.

Gerard smiles, and Mikey has to remind himself to breathe because Gerard looks so...healthy. And happy. He’s got color to his cheeks, like he actually let the sun kiss him, there’s even a few freckles on his nose. His hair is still dark, just a little more natural than the stark black that he used to always dye it, it makes him look younger and more mature at the same time and Mikey doesn’t question it because it’s Gerard and contradictory things just seem to make sense around him. 

But the biggest thing that Mikey notices is that his eyes are clearer. Mikey can’t remember the last time he could look his brother in the eyes and see that he was all there. 

“You look good,” Mikey breathes. 

Gerard smiles again, but it’s not totally real yet. Like, it is, because Mikey knows that Gerard is  _ happy _ to see Mikey right now. Even with all this shit between him, he doesn’t doubt his brother’s love for him. But something is missing.

“I wish I could say the same thing about you,” Gerard says softly, and it should be mean. That statement should hurt Mikey, but the way Gerard says it makes the sting not set all the way in. He knows what Gerard is looking at. A skeletal, dimmer, version of the brother he left behind. 

Mikey falters a little, then he thinks of Frank and says, “I love you.”

Gerard’s smile disappears all together and Mikey doesn’t know why that was the wrong thing to say. “I love you too, Mikes,” he says softly, reaching out to him. Mikey doesn’t even hesitate, just dives into his arms and settles into the familiar set of flesh and bones. Home, home, home. 

But it’s not as all encompassing as he remembers. 

Mikey had thought that whenever Gerard would come back finally, that whatever was broken inside of Mikey would suddenly mend back together. That Gerard was the missing piece in the rickety structure of Mikey Way. That Gerard would stabilize him so that he could stand tall without falling over at the first gust of wind. 

Mikey pulls away and Gerard looks a little surprised. “Let’s go, Frank’s waiting in the garage.”

Gerard tilts his head to the side like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He just gets his bag and follows Mikey back to Frank’s car. Frank gets out and grins at Mikey before waving to Gerard a little. “Hey, I’m Frank.”

Gerard doesn’t wave back, he takes his hand and pulls him into a brief hug. “Gerard. Mikey’s told me a lot about you.”

Frank pulls back and gives Mikey another smile before they all pile into Frank’s car. Frank keeps the music low in case anyone wants to talk, but they’re quiet besides the occasional click of a lighter and huff of smoke. When they pull up to the apartment, Frank doesn’t turn off the car. “So I have to go check in at the cafe,” Frank says, giving Mikey a slow, measured look, “I’ll see you guys later. Maybe go out for dinner later or breakfast tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” Gerard offers, before getting out of the car, no doubt to give Mikey the illusion of privacy as he stares disbelievingly at Frank.

“I’ve been ignoring his calls for weeks and now you guys are locking me into a room with him?” Mikey bites out.

Frank leans over and kisses him, and Mikey isn’t even concerned that Gerard sees it. “Yeah,” Frank whispers and Mikey snorts. 

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Frank murmurs, too close to the tone he uses in their bedroom. 

Mikey’s cheeks heat and he looks down. “Yeah, ok.”

He doesn't look back up at him or say goodbye, just gets out of the car and lets Gerard follow him up the steps to the front door. 

*

To say that sitting in Pete and Mikey’s tiny kitchen with Gerard was awkward would be an understatement. They’re both chain smoking like fiends and Mikey keeps getting up to refill Gerard’s mug with coffee.

“I love that Pete gets the Christmas blend,” Gerard sighs, sipping more caffeine. 

Mikey just nods. 

Gerard sets the mug down and sighs. “Kinda running out of small talk here, Mikes,” he picks up his pack of smokes and shakes it, wincing at how empty it’s starting to sound, “And smokes.”

Mikey lights a cigarette and sighs. “Yeah.”

There’s another pause then, “Why did you hang up?”

Mikey picks at a splinter in the wood table. “You know why.”

“No,” Gerard says slowly, “I don’t. That’s why I’m asking. I told you that I was going to be a dad, Mikey, we’re having a  _ baby _ . That, I don’t know, I thought a simple congrats would be a little hurtful but I expected it. I thought you’d at least say that. I didn’t think you’d  _ hang up _ on me.”

Mikey frowns and takes a drag.

“Will you fucking look at me?”

Mikey closes his eyes and his stomach literally lurches at the idea of looking at Gerard right now. He’s always had that issue growing up. Whenever he got in trouble he couldn’t look at the grown up that was reprimanding him. That’s what this felt like. He just wanted to shrink down and be invisible to Gerard agan. But, the problem, Mikey realizes, is that he’s never been invisible to Gerard. Even when he felt insignificant, he was never invisible.

Mikey looks up and he almost starts crying at the brokenness in Gerard. For a minute, Mikey thinks that they’re barely twenty again, crying and clinging to something they don’t know they don’t need yet. 

“You left me,” Mikey whispers, and it’s the first time he told Gerard this. The first time they’ve ever talked about this in three years. Three years of saying “fine”, “good”, “okay”, and small talk about music and whatever else would distract them from the real issue. That their weekly phone calls were just a guise to themselves, trying to pretend that they were still brothers even though they felt like strangers. 

Gerard reaches out to take Mikey’s hand, but Mikey moves it and puts it on his lap under the table.    


Gerard winces and lights another cigarette. “I needed to get clean.”

“You couldn’t do that with me? You didn’t think that I needed to get clean too?”   


Gerard shakes his head, “Not like me.”

Mikey stands so quickly, the chair falls over and Gerard stares at him with wide eyes. “Oh fuck you!”

Gerard looks like he’s going to throw up, or go into shock. “Excuse me?” He breathes. 

“You, and everyone else, thought that you were the only one with problems,” Mikey hisses, “But you’re not. You just got more attention because you cried louder.”

Gerard stabs out his cigarette with a shaky hand and puts his hand over his eyes, leans down into it so his elbow holds him up on the table. For a minute, Mikey feels bad. But, no, he needs this. He needs to say this because he’s been holding it in for so long.

“You’re not the only one with issues,” Mikey whispers, “You were depressed and tried to drink it away. Fine, that’s...that’s, did you ever stop and wonder why I was standing right next to you drinking with you?”

“You left with Pete,” Gerard sniffles, wiping his eyes and sitting back up, “You left first. You say that I left you when you needed me, but you. Fucking. Left. With  _ him _ .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mikey growls. 

“You know! Mikey, you fucking know, don’t be stupid,” Gerard stresses, “He was the exact kind of guy that never got us, Mikes. You,” he laughs bitterly, “you clung to someone who was the exact opposite of me. Someone who was all smiles and had the balls to get up and prance around on stage. You gave up on me a long time ago, so don’t you dare put all of this on me. Don’t you dare blame me for leaving when I thought there was nothing for me to leave behind.”

Mikey shakes his head. “You really think that I was trying to replace you with Pete?”

“You drove down the east coast to be with him! And then when you guys came home, you just turned around and hopped on their bus for the next tour. I didn’t see you for months. I was dying and you weren’t there.”

Mikey narrows his eyes. “Stop being dramatic--”

“No,” Gerard snaps, “I almost  _ died _ , Mikey.”

Mikey stumbles and leans against the fridge. “What?”

Gerard takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I-I don’t know, I can’t really remember what my mindset was that night anymore. I just kinda knew that it was my last night. That I didn’t really expect there to be a tomorrow. I know that I did like three grams of coke and drank until I was throwing up for fifteen minutes straight.”

“Jesus,” Mikey whispers, sliding down to the floor. 

“After that, I had to get away,” Gerard continues softly, “I couldn’t stay in the same spot and try to get myself together. Especially with…”

“What?” Mikey wonders.

Gerard gets up and comes to sit next to him against the fridge. “I was going to say especially without you there, but I think part of me was leaving to leave you.”

Mikey nods and pulls his knees up to his chest.

“I leaned on you way too much,” Gerard whispers, “The fact that I completely just became unhinged because you weren’t there to ground me anymore, Mikey that’s not healthy.”

Mikey wants to laugh. Wants to throw his head back and laugh so hard that his belly hurts, because that’s exactly how Mikey thought of Gerard. A way to ground him. It’s how he felt about Pete. And Frank. And fuck, Mikey wasn’t sure if he liked being fragile at all now. Not if it made him feel twisted and sick like this. 

Mikey leans his head back against the fridge with a muffled  _ thunk _ . He stares at the stickered snowflakes that Frank stuck to their kitchen windows. He knows that he has to tell Gerard, tell him what he probably already knows but needs to hear from Mikey.

“I’m sick,” Mikey says softly, and when Gerard grips his hand, he explains, “I don’t eat. Or I do, but just the bare minimum. Just enough.”

Gerard’s hand loosens around Mikey’s hand, “I know.”

Mikey nods and swallows back the hot tears.

“I don’t know how to help you, Mikey,” Gerard whispers.

And Mikey’s starting to come to terms with the fact that Gerard isn’t going to fix this for him.

*

Gerard ends up staying at their parent’s house because Pete and Mikey don’t really have the room unless Gerard wants to sleep on the couch, and also because Mikey and Gerard need some breathing room. 

It’s awkward because their mom wants to come up and see Mikey but he just shakes his head and Gerard says, “I’ll tell her you’ll come over later.”

Mikey isn’t sure if that’s a lie or not yet. 

Pete finds him in the bathtub with pink water.

“No sparkles,” Mikey mutters.

Pete sits next to the tub. “I’ll get you some more unicorn ones,” he whispers, eyeing him like Mikey is going to shatter right in front of him. 

“Did you know?” Mikey asks softly.

“Know what, baby?”

“That he almost died?”

Pete nods, “Yeah, he told me the other night on the phone. When he told me he was coming for a visit. He wanted to explain it all to me, his side. He’s smart enough to know that I’m too protective of you.”

Mikey offers him a small smile. 

Pete reaches out and wipes away the softly popping suds on Mikey’s temple. “What else?”

“I told him about eating,” Mikey whispers.

Pete nods. “Good.”

“He can’t fix me,” Mikey says tearfully, and as soon as the words are out, he can’t stop the thick and heavy tears. He hears the splash before he registers that Pete has gotten into the tub with him, fully dressed. He pulls Mikey into his lap and cradles him against his chest. 

“You can’t fix me,” Mikey whimpers, “And Frank can’t either.”

“Shh,” Pete begs, because he doesn’t want to admit it either. 

Mikey sniffles and he thinks he should feel gross that there’s snot sliding down his lips. “I’ve spent so long waiting for someone to take care of me.”

“I take care of you,” Pete insists, rocking him, “I take care of you. You take care of me. We take care of Frank. He takes care of us. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that, Mikes. There’s nothing wrong with being loved.”

“But I need too much,” Mikey argues, “I take and I take.”   


“Stop,” Pete says.

“And Frank’s just here because of you.”

“W _ hat _ ?” Pete snaps.

Mikey hides his face into Pete’s damp shirt because he’s been keeping that one in for awhile.

“Mikey, what the fuck?”

“Can you go please?” Mikey whispers.

“No,” Pete says, “We’re talking about this. Right now. You think that Frank is here because of  _ me _ ? Do we need to take you to the eye doctor to get you new glasses?”

“Stop.”

“No, have you seen the way that man looks at you?”

Mikey shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do, stop acting like you’re stupid. You’re not. You know better.”

Mikey tries to pull away from Pete, but he hangs on. “No, you’re not hiding this time. Mikey, Frank  _ loves _ you. How can you not see that?”

Mikey doesn’t answer, just thinks  _ there’s nothing to love _ .

*

Mikey knows that Pete’s said something to Frank. Because, usually when Mikey goes to lay down and shuts the door, it means he wants to be left alone. Because when the three of them decided to move forward with whatever this was, they hadn’t talked about this. And Mikey isn’t sure if they need to before Frank is pulling Mikey’s shirt off him. 

He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to kiss Frank back the way he is, but he can’t stop his body. He can’t stop reacting to him. 

“Wait,” Mikey whispers.

“Pete said to leave the door open,” Frank whispers back.

And Mikey gets it. Pete wants them to have this together, for Frank to show Mikey that he loves him, but he doesn’t want to be shut out. 

So Mikey kisses Frank again and lets Frank push him back down against the pillows. Mikey tugs at the hem of Frank’s shirt and Frank grins before pulling it off and tossing it to the side. Mikey reaches out and traces the tattoos across his chest, lets his fingers dance down to the swallows in between his hips. 

Frank rids them both of their clothes, not taking his time to make a show out of it or anything. He does take his time opening Mikey up to him, to coax the tremors under his skin. Licks his bones into submission. 

Sex with Pete was always a slow cresendo. Slowly climbing up, layer upon layer being added until it finally all fell and took Mikey down with it. But sex with Frank was continuous, a blur of gripping sheets and panting against damp skin. Of begging “please, please, please” and crying out when it was too much, but never relenting. Frank never eased up, never gave Mikey a break to breathe through the onslaught of pleasure and emotions. He just pushed him through it, holding on tightly so he wasn’t alone, but made him feel every single thing he thought he didn’t deserve. 

“Frank!” He cries out, loudly and he hears it echo throughout the apartment.

“Let go, Mikey,” Frank murmurs against his lips, hitting that spot that’s making Mikey go blind each time, cry out each time, shake and whine and then he’s falling.

But Frank’s there to catch him.

He strokes Mikey through it, caresses his cheek and kisses his forehead. “Love you,” he whispers, “love you, love you, love you.”

Mikey’s crying. He feels the liquid pouring off the sides of his cheeks and into his hair. Frank wipes the tears away with gentle fingers, feather light and Mikey will never get used to how careful Frank could be with him. 

Mikey captures his fingers with his own and waits for Frank to look him in the eyes. 

“Love you,” Mikey says quietly. 

*

Gerard meets them for breakfast the next morning at Frank’s cafe. 

Breakfast is easy for Mikey, and Pete winks at Mikey when Frank asks Ray if they candied the pecans last night. 

Of course they did. Everyone in the kitchen loves Mikey, and fully supports his pecan addiction. 

Gerard smiles lightly, trying to read into the joke but lets it be. Content in seeing them all light up over something so simple. 

And Gerard tells Pete and Frank about his comic book that he’s working on, the one he’s told Mikey about on their weekly phone calls. Frank is so enthralled by him, amazed that someone like Gerard exists. And Mikey gets it. He’s his brother and he still is always amazed that someone like Gerard is alive and he gets to interact with him. Gets to love and be loved by him.

Mikey eats his oatmeal and is too aware of Gerard watching him eat, like he’s counting Mikey’s bites. 

Mikey is also aware that Pete and Frank sat on either side of him so that Gerard would have to sit on the other side of the table as him. Mikey doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed or comforted. 

Pete keeps Gerard busy with conversations about LA, Pete being the only one out of the three of them to have been. Sometime after Mikey decides he can’t eat anymore and Frank sets his hand down on his bouncing knee, Mikey excuses himself for a smoke. 

He waits a couple beats and sees Gerard follow him out on the patio. 

“I like them,” Gerard says.

“You like Pete now?”

Gerard sighs, “I was mad that you--”

“--I know.”

Gerard nods stiffly and lights up.

“How’s mom?”

“You should see her.”

Mikey shrugs.

“If you can forgive me, you can forgive her.”

“Who says I’ve forgiven you yet?”

“Fair,” Gerard breathes, “That’s fair.”

Mikey dips his nail into the cigarette filter, fidgeting. He wonders if things will ever get back to normal with Gerard, or if this weird in between of brothers and strangers is their new normal. 

“But you like them?” Mikey asks, because even if they aren’t as close he still values his brother’s opinion.

“Yeah,” Gerard says thoughtfully, “I like how they are with you.”

Mikey snorts. “How they are with me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “They,” he pauses and Gerard leans back against the cafe. He takes a few more drags like he’s trying to think of the best way to explain it, “I don’t know, Mikes. It’s weird to see them love and take care of you when I haven’t been. But, it makes me feel good, even if I feel guilty, that you have them.”

Mikey nods, he understands. “It’s why I get weird on the phone when you tell me about Lynz.”

Gerard looks up at him, surprised, then nods and lets the sentence settle in before, “Yeah, ok, I can see that now.” He smiles, “I’m glad I came.”

“You weren’t after yesterday?”

Gerard shrugs, “Did you feel good after that conversation? Because I really, really didn’t.”

Mikey grins, and it doesn’t feel forced. That’s such a Gerard thing to say. It’s such a Now-Gerard thing to say and Mikey is letting that settle in. That he’s starting to accept this new Gerard, to find quirks about him that are the same as Then-Gerard, just a little different. More sure of himself. More self-aware even. And Mikey thinks he can learn to like that. 

Gerard smiles back at him, and it’s a real smile.

Mikey sighs and takes a drag then says, “I, uh, congrats on being a dad.”

Gerard laughs a little, just a squeak of a noise that’s nasally but so fucking Gerard that it hits Mikey in the stomach, chipping at the rock in his stomach.

“Thanks.”

Mikey ashes and looks at his boots before whispering, “I didn’t hang up because I wasn’t happy for you.”

Gerard just waits for him to finish his thought, having acquired some newfound patience out there under the sun. Mikey thinks that he needs to see what it’s all about if it’s created this stillness in Gerard.

“It just was another thing that I’m not a part of. And”--Mikey waves his hand when Gerard starts to talk-- “No, let me finish. You created this whole new life that I’m not a part of. You met this girl and fell in love and you didn’t call to tell me about her.”

“What? I did!”

“Gerard, let me finish,” Mikey growls. Ok, so maybe not that much patience. He is a Way after all. “You told me her name and that she was an artist. You didn’t tell me what your guys’ song was or if she prefered Batman or Superman. You didn’t tell me if she liked our mom or if she sat up with you when there was a thunderstorm because you hate lightning.” Mikey wipes at his eyes and is proud that he was able to get through this without crying, but his throat tightens when he says, “Fuck, you didn’t tell me you got  _ married _ . I wasn’t at your wedding. Do you know how  _ fucked _ that is, Gee?”

He feels Gerard’s hand on his shoulder and then his face is buried in Gerard’s ugly army green jacket. 

“I didn’t ask you to come because I didn’t think you'd want to come, and I couldn’t live with that,” he whispers.

“Can you live with it now?”

“I have to, don’t I? I’m going to regret not having you there the rest of my life,” Gerard says, “Which is why I told you about the baby. It’s why I’m trying harder to fix things, because I need you in her life.”

Mikey sniffles. “Her?”

Gerard’s chest rumbles with soft laughter. “Yeah, her. We found out just a couple days before I came here.”

Mikey hums and hugs Gerard back. 

“And,” Gerard says, rubbing Mikey’s back, “I know what you mean about you feeling like you’re not a part of my life, but Mikey you still  _ are _ part of my everyday. Even if we don’t talk everyday, I think about you all the time. I see something online and I save it on my phone to send you because I think it’ll make you smile. I make those playlists because those songs make me think of you, or make me think of something that I want  _ you _ to understand.”

Mikey squeezes his eyes shut. “I need you to send me those playlists again.”

Gerard stiffens a little, then asks softly, “Oh. Did you, um, delete them?”

Mikey opens his eyes and says, “No. I got jumped an--”

“What?” Gerard gasps, pushing Mikey back at arms length to look him over and Mikey shakes his head, “It was before Christmas. I’m ok now.”

Gerard nods. “Yeah, I’ll send them to you,” he says, pulling out his phone.

Mikey grins. Yeah, still a Way.

*

Pete drove Mikey and Gerard to the airport at the end of the weekend. Gerard and Mikey stood at the gate hugging until the last call was made and then Gerard squeezed Mikey’s hand and got on the plane. 

Pete held Mikey in the car while he cried and waited until his sobs turned into hiccups before driving him home so that Frank could hug him too. 

“I’m proud of you,” Frank murmured against Mikey’s cheek when he wrapped his arms around him. Mikey let them coddle him for a little while longer before he retreated into their room and hid under the covers. 

Mikey thinks he should probably go out and have dinner with them. He’s not hungry, he’s not sure how long it’ll take him to work up to that, if he’ll ever get better really. But, he knows that he has to take the steps to get there. And he thinks a good first step is to get out of his hiding spot and go sit with Frank and Pete in front of the television and try to eat whatever Frank made. 

“Hey, you,” Pete says gently when he sees Mikey hovering outside the kitchen.

Frank is stirring something with a lot of peppers on the stove. He holds out his arm, and Mikey comes over. Frank pulls Mikey in front of him and has him stir along. “It’s roasted red pepper pasta,” he tells him, “I like to make my own pasta sauce.”

Mikey grins. “Of course you do.”

Frank doesn’t push Mikey to eat any of it though, not when he turns off the stove and pours the sauce over three bowls of pasta. He leaves the last bowl on the table and lets Mikey decide if he wants to take it.

He waits until they’re sitting in the living room and takes the bowl hesitantly. He knows he won’t finish it, but he’ll take a few bites. 

*

Mikey has a new morning routine. 

Now he’ll wake up slowly, warm between Frank and Pete. Frank will get up first, he likes to shower in the morning instead of in the evening like Pete and Mikey do. Sometimes, Mikey will get in the shower with him and they’ll take their time washing each other and getting dirty all over again, and sometimes he’ll cuddle next to Pete, letting Pete’s sleepy kisses dance across his jaw and on his neck. 

Eventually he’ll make it to the kitchen regardless who he’s woken up with. Pete will stumble into the kitchen and start the kettle for everyone while Frank will stir oats and pecans over the stove. Mikey will decipher the sticky notes he leaves on the bathroom mirror. They’re not just Pete’s meetings anymore, there’s delivery reminders for Frank too. 

And Frank will put extra cinnamon in Pete’s oats and extra pecans in Mikey’s. Pete will screw lids on top of Frank and Mikey’s traveler mugs and Mikey will put their oats into to-go containers. Pete will kiss them both goodbye, then Frank and Mikey will head out into the wintery Jersey morning. 

Now Mikey doesn’t have to walk alone in the mornings.

So, the cold doesn’t bother him anymore. 


End file.
